


And like a flame that flickers out too soon, she's gone

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood Loss, Chapter 1: Colter (Red Dead Redemption 2), Child Death, Childbirth, Death in Childbirth, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Dutch curled up on the floor, refusing to let go of your hand long enough to get in the chair Hosea brought to him, other hand trailing along your clammy face and through your hair, murmuring softly to you. Promising you anything - a ranch, to settle down, to rid the gang of Micah, if only you'd open your eyes. Telling stories of when the gang had been younger, of when he'd been younger. Speaking of his dreams for you and him and your daughter.
Relationships: Dutch van der Linde/Reader
Kudos: 36





	And like a flame that flickers out too soon, she's gone

Meeting the Adler widow had rattled Dutch more than he was willing to admit.

She'd reminded him of finding you. Feral-eyed and scared, nearly taking out his throat. And maybe he'd spurred The Count a bit faster than he should have in his hurry to return to you; could you blame him? He wanted to curl up around you, to get warm, to see you as you were now, loving smile on your face, to clasp his hand on your swollen stomach and feel reassured that you were safe.

  
  


Hosea almost yanked him off his horse though, and one look at his face set a stone in his stomach. His voice was whipped away by the wind but he caught your name, and broke into a run towards his cabin.

Susan opened the door, face pale. Her arms were soaked in blood, the front of her dress to match.

His heart sank, began to race and, screaming your name, he nearly barreled her over as he bolted for your two's room.

  
  


You were horribly indecent, but that wasn't his concern. Your pants had been discarded, shirt exchanged for one of his. Your chest heaved for each breath, and blood soaked the blankets beneath your spread legs.

_ 'Oh God.' _

No, this couldn't be happening. You weren't due for months,  _ this couldn't be happening. _

He dropped to his knees beside you, taking your hand in his. Dutch gasped your name and your eyes were horribly glassy when they opened, struggling to focus on him. "...Dutch?"

He reached up and ran his fingers through your soaked hair, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, "I'm here sweetheart, I'm here."

You opened your mouth as though to speak before your face twisted and you curled in on yourself, a scream so agonized as to be inhuman tearing from your throat as Susan rushed in, hurrying to hold your legs open with Abigail's help (the other woman had been waiting in the corner) and urging you to breathe.

Dutch could only stare in horror as blood gushed, red as the sunset, onto the blankets.

When you slumped back onto the bed, gasping for air, what little color you had left on your face had drained away. "Dutch…" your eyes darted this way and that, struggling to lock onto his until he leaned forward to kiss your clammy cheek.

"I've got you, I won't let anything happen to you." They'd already lost Jenny and Sean, Mac and Davey, and he refused to lose you too.

  
  


The next contraction, and you hadn't the energy to curl in on yourself. Dutch found himself sitting behind you, propping you up against his chest and murmuring love words and encouragement in your ears, holding your legs apart with his and fighting the urge to be sick when your blood trickled out onto them.

"It's okay," he muttered to you when you sagged, whimpering, "I've got you my darling, I've got you."

You trembled and shook, gasping desperately as Abigail checked between your legs, arms coming away crimson and baring her teeth in something that could barely be called a grin. "I can feel their head, just a few more pushes!"

Dutch wrapped his arm around you in a hug as he took your hand in his, Abigail grabbing the other, Susan taking up position between your legs. You strained once, the world going grey, and the second time slumped, eyelids fluttering and Dutch's voice was suddenly in your ear, "No, no you must stay awake, stay awake for me," and he didn't often sound so scared so you forced yourself to rouse, to strain and then a scream split the air, shrill and high-pitched.

"You did it," Dutch praised, his voice watery, rubbing your side and running his thumb along your knuckles, and Abigail's voice was there too but it was wobbling and far away and you frowned, tried to look back at Dutch but only barely managed 

"Something's wrong,"

and then you were gone.

Susan was holding your baby - a tiny little girl - and suddenly it was all, for just a moment, okay. She was tiny, and wrinkly, and ugly, but she was the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen.

And then you said something, so quiet he couldn't make it out, and you went slack against his chest and he couldn't breathe.

Susan passed your infant to Abigail, the experienced mother cutting the cord as Grimshaw tore you from Dutch's arms, the numb man stiff as a board as she yelled "Dutch, let her go! Let me help her!" and he could only stare at the blood that soaked him as she moved you to the floor and straddled you, beginning to breathe into your mouth between compressions to your chest.

  
  


Against all odds, Susan managed to bring you back.

Dutch had been useless, able only to stare in horror. Hosea had had to coax him out of bed, to hold you as Tilly and Mary-Beth stripped the bed and put on clean linens, Abigail wiping down your unnamed daughter as he settled you in bed. Abigail offered him his daughter but he could only see the blood that already was starting to darken the towels between your legs despite the medicine Hosea had tipped down your throat, and so she took her to Arthur's room to tend her through the night.

Dutch curled up on the floor, refusing to let go of your hand long enough to get in the chair Hosea brought to him, other hand trailing along your clammy face and through your hair, murmuring softly to you. Promising you anything - a ranch, to settle down, to rid the gang of Micah, if only you'd open your eyes. Telling stories of when the gang had been younger, of when  _ he'd _ been younger. Speaking of his dreams for you and him and your daughter.

It was just gone midnight when you drew breath for the last time.

Within a week winter's fever settled deep in your daughter's underdeveloped lungs, and days later she joined you, your arms holding her to your still breast, to be buried when they got off the mountain where flowers swayed in the winds and birds would sing you to sleep.


End file.
